<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Tales of Quarantine by iloveyoudie</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843856">Tales of Quarantine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie'>iloveyoudie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [26]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Endeavour (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Babies, Beach Holidays, Bets &amp; Wagers, Cats, Drinking, Everyone Gets A Beard!, F/M, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Modern Era, Mustaches, New Year's Eve, Pranks, Webcam/Video Chat, quarantine fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:13:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,724</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Morse sat in front of the laptop screen with several days worth of ginger stubble and his hair mussed in a way that read like he simply hadn’t bothered to comb it that day. He looked tired and frustrated. </p><p>It was noon. Their bi-weekly group call.</p><p>** a boxfancy au side-story **</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jim Strange/Joan Thursday, Max DeBryn/Endeavour Morse, Ronnie Box/George Fancy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [26]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695859</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. THE MUG</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>they are all stuck at home for an extended period of time.<br/>enjoy shenanigans</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
Morse sat in front of the laptop screen with several days worth of ginger stubble and his hair mussed in a way that read like he simply hadn’t bothered to comb it that day. He looked tired and frustrated. 
</p><p>
It was noon. Their bi-weekly group call.
</p><p>
Jim Strange popped in on his end. He adjusted himself in his chair and then leaned forward to tilt his screen a bit. He was also sporting a short beard, “Hello, matey. How’re you holding up?"
</p><p>
Morse rested his head on his fist, his cheek mushing in a miserable but hilarious distortion of his face, “Did you send a mug to my house?”
</p><p>
“A what?”
</p><p>
“A mug,” Morse sighed, “for coffee.”
</p><p>
Jim blinked, his face twitched in amusement but if it was him, he wasn’t giving much away. 
</p><p>
“You see,” Morse continued in a way that Jim could read might lead into a lecture. Max could be seen walking through the background in a polka-dot dressing gown. He was holding a mug, “Someone sent a mug to the house. Max swears it wasn’t him but he loves the bloody thing. Won’t put it down.”
</p><p>
“Who’ve you decided to interrogate first?” Max piped up from a distance before he wandered closer and leaned over Morse’s shoulder. He seemed to be only one still shaving, though he had some sort of faded college tee shirt under his (actually rather ugly) fuschia and green dressing gown, “Hello Jim.”
</p><p>
“Doc.”
</p><p>
Max smirked and gestured his mug to the camera. It was white with a shoddily photoshopped image of Morse’s head. He looked absolutely shocked in the photo, wide eyed and open mouthed, maybe mid-sentence, and it didn’t even have a neck or shoulders. Just an off kilter oval with choppily cut out hair, and a not a single letter of text. 
</p><p>
Just that face. SHOCKED and STARING. 
</p><p>
Jim exploded in laughter. Max burst into a deep-dimpled grin. Morse rubbed his hand over his face and started to pull his hoodie hood up over his head. 
</p><p>
Max went ‘Aw’ and swiped Morse’s hand and hood away so he could soothingly pet Morse’s head himself. 
</p><p>
“I’m callin George,” Jim gasped through a laugh.
</p><p>
“No no!” Morse groaned.
</p><p>
Max kept smirking. 
</p><p>
George’s face popped into view. His cat Theresa wrapped around his throat like a ginger scarf, “Wassup?”
</p><p>
“Look at the doc’s mug,” Jim pointed.
</p><p>
Max sipped it, leaned closer, and showed it again. 
</p><p>
George screamed a laugh and nearly leapt from the sofa until Theresa exploded upwards in surprise and dug her claws into him as she scrambled away. George yelped and scrambled a bit in place.
</p><p>
“Fuck! FUCK!” He rubbed his neck and sunk back into his chair with a laugh. He started to search around off camera and waved a beckoning arm, “HA!! Babe! C’mere!”
</p><p>
Morse groaned and reached for his hood again, “Oh no..” 
</p><p>
A big weight tossed itself into the sofa beside George. Rogueish stubble, overly curly unstyled hair, joggers and a tank top, holding a greek yogurt that looked tiny in his large hands, Box nodded at them all cooly in greeting before he squinted at Morse and Max, leaned in, and cocked a very crooked smile, “Nice mug, Max.”
</p><p>
“Thank you, Box,” Max smiled again.
</p><p>
“So it was you?!” Morse’s eyes widened. 
</p><p>
“What?” Box leaned back with his yogurt, peeled the tin top, got some on his thumb and licked it off. George watched him for a long second before he looked back at the call. 
</p><p>
“You’re the one who sent it?” Morse clarified.
</p><p>
“I dunno shit-all about that. I just think it’s a funny fuckin mug,” Box shrugged, “Whoever made it should send us one.”
</p><p>
George laughed, “You drastically over estimate Ronnie’s skillset, Morse.” 
</p><p>
Box gave him a look. 
</p><p>
Morse groaned and buried his hand in his hair. 
</p><p>
George picked up his phone, texted, and a long second later Max got a ding, on camera, and stood up. 
</p><p>
“Are you fucking texting eachother right now?” Morse’s eyes widened. 
</p><p>
Jim picked up his phone and texted also.
</p><p>
A moment later Joan came in behind him with her phone in one hand and a baby monitor in the other, “A mug?”
</p><p>
“I’m not texting,” Ronnie murmured his innocence. A spoon was pulled out of the pocket of his joggers and he started to eat. 
</p><p>
George texted again. Max as well. Then George was interrupted by his cat crawling back over his lap. She had clearly forgiven him. 
</p><p>
“You’re all pricks, you know that?” Morse sighed in defeat. He leaned back in his chair and rested his head against Max’s side.
</p><p>
“Hey guys..” Joan finally got to the screen. 
</p><p>
There was a chorus of ‘Hi Joan’s’ and a grunt as Box gesturing loosely with a spoon. 
</p><p>
“Nice mug, Max,” She laughed. 
</p><p>
“Thank you,” Max said again. He seemed to drain whatever he was drinking, “Every end is a new beginning. I’m off for a refill.” He nodded at them all and peeled himself away from an arm Morse has snuck around him. He wandered out of frame.
</p><p>
Morse went back to staring deadpan at the call, his arms now crossed over his chest.
</p><p>
Joan arranged herself to be perched on Jim’s lap. 
</p><p>
Box’s cat decided to join the party. Massive and grey, almost double the size of George’s cat, crawled straight up the center of his chest and nearly put it’s head in Ronnie’s mouth. 
</p><p>
“Oi,” Box murmured, “Quit it, Shoebox.” He thrust the tin lid in the cats face and let him lick it clean. You could hear the rough sound through the video feed.
</p><p>
“Morse,” Joan finally broke the ice, “Have you given it thought that Max ordered himself the mug?” 
</p><p>
Morse gritted his teeth, “He swears he hasn’t.” 
</p><p>
“And I tell Jim his morning breath isn’t,” she air quoted, “that bad.” 
</p><p>
Jim gasped, “You hag.”
</p><p>
She kissed him on the head patronizingly. The baby monitor in her hand chirped with a baby’s fussing. Joan shrugged and stood up. 
</p><p>
“Nice to see you, boys,” She said as she walked out of frame. 
</p><p>
When she was finally out of the room, Jim leaned forward and scratched at his own stubble, “If one of you did do it, send me the website, yeah?” He looked behind him and then back, “I wanna make some cushions for the next holiday.” 
</p><p>
“I do not want to know,” Morse snorted. 
</p><p>
“I do!” George laughed, picked up his phone and texted again. 
</p><p>
Jim’s phone buzzed off frame. 
</p><p>
“I don’t know why I associate with any of you.” Morse yawned. 
</p><p>
“Cause noone else’ll have you,” Box said very plainly. George elbowed him but everyone chuckled, even Morse. 
</p><p>
Jim’s name was called in the distance. He turned his head and then turned back, “Duty calls, lads. See you.” And he clicked off. 
</p><p>
That left Morse and Box and Fancy. 
</p><p>
It was a long silent moment. 
</p><p>
“This is weird,” George said. 
</p><p>
“Yeah,” Morse said. 
</p><p>
“Alright, hanging up bro. Good luck in your quest for the truth.” George leaned into the laptop, dodging Theresa’s tail and cat ass. 
</p><p>
“Yeah,” Morse finally straightened, “Thanks. See you.” 
</p><p>
At the last second George fumbled clicking the hang up button. There was a split second of him murmuring to Box, head turned, smiling, before the screen went black, “Max says the website has booty shorts.” 
</p><p>
Morse became a blurred streak in his chair before the call cut out, “MAX!!” 
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. UNPRECEDENTED TIMES</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Now, you should all be receiving the email,” Mr. Bright leaned toward his monitor, slowly plodding through his computer processes as was his way on their weekly video conferences. Usually impeccably kept under normal working conditions, the isolation had him with a healthy silvering scruff of a beard and hair longer than any of the officers had seen before which was combed back and curling around behind his ears and neck. He squinted as he leaned into his screen so close that his glasses glowed white and eerie and he nearly looked like he was in a fish-eye lens, “See it?”</p><p>A chorus of blase ‘Yessirs’ came from the others on the video call: Morse, Jim, George, and Thursday, all in various levels of interest from their respective living spaces.</p><p>“Make sure you copy me on your replies but I expect your reports sent to DCI Thursday by the end of the week,” Bright leaned back and removed his glasses and he morphed from an imposing, no-nonsense Superintendent into a kindly grandfather type with a seamless ease.</p><p>“None of this 11:59pm on Friday bollocks either,” Fred replied gruffly from behind an impressive and voluminous beard. His hair had also gone just a tad too long, and he looked like some sort of regal old king if not for the plastic frame reading glasses perched on his nose, “Fancy.”</p><p>George straightened. He’d been hunched and crowded forward, hair sticking up in every direction from tugging it at intervals of boredom during their meeting. He put on an air of innocence, “I would <em>never</em>, sir.”</p><p>Fred merely stared over his glasses as Jim and Morse clearly suppressed smirks.</p><p>“Morse?” Mr. Bright spoke up again as he tapped the arm of his glasses against his lip, “Were you able to review that proposal I sent you?”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Morse actually looked more cleaned up than the rest. Firstly, he’d actually shaved since their last chat. His hair was still too long and it curled in a mop on his head like some sort of cherub in a baroque painting. The humidity wherever he was had turned it into more of a wispy halo than anything, and it was just a shade lighter, a firey bronze with more blonde than usual, which complimented his much more heavily freckled and sun-tanned face.</p><p>Morse clearly was not at home by the very white, bright sunlight he was sitting in.</p><p>“I’ll have revisions back to you tomorrow," Morse had at least made an attempt to look like he was in work mode. He had on a button up shirt.</p><p>“Where are you, Morse?” Bright leaned close again, his eyes scanning the screen, “Not home, surely.”</p><p>Jim was clearly scrolling through his phone outside of the frame and Thursday was looking at his keyboard, tapping one key at a time.</p><p>George kept looking over the top of his camera and mouthing things to someone in the room with him. Obviously, Box was waiting in the wings.</p><p>“No, sir,” Morse cleared his throat slightly, “This was my holiday week.”</p><p>“Good heavens, I’d forgotten,” Bright blinked before muttering low, “Time’s just lost right now isn’t it? Such a trying time. Everything topsy turvy.”</p><p>“Cornwall, was it?” Fred spoke up. His glasses were removed and folded up to hang on the front pocket of his shirt.</p><p>“Yes,” Morse nodded. He pushed a hand through his hair, “Max’s niece has a place on the coast.”</p><p>"Keeping safe, I hope," Mr. Bright smiled quickly before he was grave again, "Absolutely unprecedented times."</p><p>Jim and George flashed each other looks through their cameras.</p><p>"Of course, sir," Morse lamely tried to press his hair down, "We keep to ourselves. Catching up on some reading. Max has been doing a lot of fishing."</p><p>George was getting visibly bored again. He’d picked up his phone, texted, and Jim was seen moments after picking his own up and typing back.</p><p>Silence set in then. Mr. Bright nodded awkwardly. He never quite knew how to handle the line between personal lives and work ones, especially amongst his detectives who had all (at one point or other) dated one another or messed around enough to make it a topic of conversation in the office. When Max and Morse had moved in together, somehow he'd gotten even more confused. He solved this by always calling Max 'Doctor' no matter the context, and left it at that, because he was never quite sure when he was playing pathologist and when he was playing Morse’s spouse, as if those two things couldn’t possibly intersect.</p><p>Morse stared at the screen and waited for something more and in the silence there was only the faint click clack of Jim typing.</p><p>Awkward.</p><p>"Yes, quite," Bright finally said after the silence had gone on one second too long, "Well, enjoy yourselves. I think that’s everything. Everyone dismissed. Have a good week."</p><p>Everyone suddenly seemed to perk. George’s goodbye was enthusiastic and Jim, just as Mr. Bright's screen disappeared, saluted in his absence.</p><p>“Alright, lads," Thursday rumbled with an amused smirk, "Behave yourselves. What was our tally?"</p><p>There was a rush of movement from every screen as the layout readjusted for Bright’s absence. They were also all suddenly rising and shifting and talking.</p><p>"Three times boys," Jim suddenly exasperated as he started to get out of his chair.</p><p>"Ha! Pay up!" Fred chimed in a bit more cheerfully. He leaned back and crossed his arms, not moving like the rest of them.</p><p>Morse groaned and stood. Despite his button up shirt, he only seemed to be wearing a pair of snug swimming trunks on his bottom half. He reappeared moments later with a bottle of whiskey and sank back into his seat.</p><p>“Yeah, he’s gone,” George spoke off screen and was joined seconds later by Box who sat down with a bottle of tequila and a shot glass.</p><p>"Cheers Fred," Ronnie flashed a quick smile and then his eyes shifted to the rest of them, "How many today, lads?"</p><p>“Three,” George snorted. “Guv won.”</p><p>Jim cracked a can of something.</p><p>"What is that nonsense?" Morse pointed at the can.</p><p>“Seltzer,” Jim said, “It’s alcoholic!”</p><p>“It’s not even 5%!” George yelled.</p><p>“Yeah well,” Jim put three of them on the desk in view, “Everything else gives me heartburn these days, so this is what you get.”</p><p>Morse was already slinging back a shot. A flash of sunlight came across him, as if a door had opened and closed, and Max’s voice came from off camera.</p><p>“How many today, love?”</p><p>“Three-” Morse hissed and grimaced after his first drink.</p><p>And then suddenly, behind Jim, came the sound of music and a figure in a full body pajama set, bright orange with black stripes and a set of ears and a swinging tail, came dancing through with a baby strapped to its chest. Joan gyrated towards the camera behind Jim’s back, wearing oversized sunglasses and waving the baby’s arms around to the beat in her comically comfy fit tiger kigurumi.</p><p><em>~Aruba, Jamaica, ooooh I wanna take ya<br/>
</em> <em>To Bermuda, Bahama, Come one pretty mamma~</em></p><p>Jim looked behind him and laughed and so did everyone else. In his chair he started to sing along.</p><p>
  <em>~Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go~</em>
</p><p>“Is that my Joanie and little Samantha?” Fred leaned in.</p><p>Joan hip thrusted around behind Jim’s back to the beat of the song but it was becoming a bit of a cacophony between the song, the dancing, some singing from the audience, and the amount of laughing coming from them all. She bopped her head to the music and waved the baby’s arms around with her, and when she finally got close enough, put her hands on Jim’s shoulders as their daughter gripped hard into his hair.</p><p>By the time they reached the end of the chorus, Joan turned the music off on her phone, “Say hi to everyone, Sammy… Hi everyone!” She gently pried Jim’s hair from the baby’s hands and their daughter smiled and gurgled, “Say hi to Pop-Pop. Hi Pop-pop!”</p><p>“Hello, cherub!” Fred grinned, then leaned back, rolled his chair to his office door, and cracked it, “Winifred! Joan’s on with the babe!!”</p><p>Morse was three shots in when Max finally appeared on camera in a very tasteful Tommy Bahama shirt and a beach hat. He had on sunglasses that looked identical to his own normal glasses and he was just as sun tanned as Morse was.</p><p>George took his shots next.</p><p>“What’s all this drinking?” Joan gestured. She once more let the baby grab into Jim’s hair and Jim gasped and made a face, tilting his head in an attempt to not have all of his hair torn out by his daughter. He was muttering softly, <em>‘Okay sweetie let daddy’s hair go-OW!’</em></p><p>“I believe-” Max leaned in, a hand on Morse’s shoulder as the man downed another shot, “They’ve lost to your father. A bet on how many times Mr. Bright says ‘these unprecedented times!’ during the weekly meeting.”</p><p>“Oh my god-” Joan laughed almost sadly, “Bless him.”</p><p>Jim appeared to be power chugging his first can of seltzer and when he finished it, leaned back to let out a belch that made George cheer, the baby laugh, and a newly arrived Mrs. Thursday tut with disappointment.</p><p>“Jim.” Win sighed with motherly disappointment, “Hello everyone.”</p><p>A round of ‘Mrs. Thursday’s moved through the screens.<br/>
<br/>
George and Box, it seemed, were just drinking now. Box was measuring out shots of tequila and George was chasing them with Mountain Dew as Ronnie laughed and told him how grim he was.</p><p>Max had pulled up a chair and brought a plate of something baked to the desk, and as he lifted what looked like a cranberry scone to his lips, Morse stole it away with a snatch and a smirk.</p><p>Jim was held captive by baby hands knotted deeply into his hair.</p><p>And then, after a few minutes of inter-family chatter, the Thursdays said goodbye. And Joan also did. And little baby Samantha pulled a handful of her dad’s hair out and waved it.</p><p>Joan sauntered away with Kokomo blasting anew and her tiger tail swaying.</p><p>Jim exhaled, “Finally.” And looked teary eyed as he rubbed his hands over his scalp.</p><p>“Drink your <em>seltzer</em>,” Morse ribbed, “Maybe it will help.”</p><p>“I will, actually,” Jim shot him a glare, cracked another can, and drank it down.</p><p>“Fred’s beard is pretty impressive,” Ronnie said off handedly, just an observation, as he leaned off to the side and picked up their cat Theresa and put her in George’s lap, “Coulda sworn it was only stubble last time I saw him.”</p><p>There was an agreeable hum from Morse and Max, both now drinking whiskey and actively eating scones on camera.</p><p>“And Mr. Bright,” Jim said.</p><p>There was a quiet pause, a simple moment where they all petted cats and drank seltzer and devoured scones until it was broken by George.</p><p>“So I have to be the one who says it?”</p><p>“Says what?” Morse picked a cranberry out of his scone and popped it into his mouth.</p><p>“Mr. Bright and the Guv... “</p><p>Several sets of eyes pinned on him from their screens.</p><p>“..with the beards and long hair?” George clearly was hinting at something none of them were picking up.</p><p>“IT’S KINDA HOT!”</p><p>Box laughed. Morse covered his face. Max almost choked on his scone for his laughing.</p><p>“What?!” George looked absolutely shocked that no one was agreeing with him.</p><p>“He’s practically my dad!” Jim lamented as he cracked his final seltzer.</p><p>“Doesn’t mean he’s not hot…” George murmured.</p><p>Morse was rubbing Max’s back because the crumbs had gone down the wrong pipe and he was beet red and coughing.</p><p>Ronnie tilted his head to George and smirked, “Y’aint wrong babe. Your brain’s just on another level.”</p><p>George looked smug.</p><p>Max choked again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hey look. another scene.</p><p>absolutely an excuse to visualize both roger allam and anton lesser with their beards.</p><p>Please enjoy <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zMsDxTmc_KA">Anton Lesser reading Sonnet 29</a> from Quarantine.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. NEW YEARS EVE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy New Year!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
“Happy New Year!!” George grinned as Jim’s window popped up in their video call. He was wearing what looked like a new zip up jumper in navy blue, and Lil Jim sat oin his shoulder gnawing something that was leaving a mess of tiny crumbs. George’s tone changed mid sentence into a higher pitched, “<em>Ahhh!! My boy!</em>”
</p><p>
“Happy New Year,” Jim laughed from under a very healthy mustache that George had never seen before. That would definitely needed addressing. It would have to wait though, as he was still too busy cooing at the pet rat. 
</p><p>
Jim ran his fingers over the lip caterpillar in thought, “Where’s your better half?”
</p><p>
“Popped to the toilet,” George flicked a hand, glanced down, and quickly scooped up a long ginger feline from off of the floor. Theresa hung like limp dead weight in his hands. She had a festive silvery bow with bells on it affixed to her collar, “Look ,Theresa, it’s your cousin Lil Jim.”
</p><p>
She refused to look at the screen and instead looked like she was being punished.
</p><p>
“What's with the tache?” George frowned and wrinkled his nose as he folded Theresa into the cradle of his arms, “You look like you’re about to go referee a kiddies football league.”
</p><p>
Just as he said it another screen popped up, Morse, also in a warm looking cable knit jumper with what they all knew immediately was a several-drink-flush high on his cheeks.  He was also sporting a very healthy and thick mustache. 
</p><p>
"You too!?" George hissed with dismay, “Did I miss the fuckin newsletter?”
</p><p>
"What?" Morse said innocently with a hint of a smile, "In my defense, mustaches were my thing first.”
</p><p>
"Hes not wrong," Jim piped up. Lil Jim was climbing down the front of his jumper now and he corralling him safely until he disappeared out of frame. 
</p><p>
Theresa had caught on it seemed. She stared at the screen with saucer eyes until he disappeared and she herself also wriggled away. 
</p><p>
“Where's Box?” Morse said.
</p><p>
George squinted, "Loo. Why’m I not good enough for you all?" Ron was taking a while though. , Since when was Morse so keen on him? 
</p><p>
"Where's Max?"
</p><p>
"Where’d you think? Kitchen," Behind Morse the sliver of their cottage that was visible glittered with the reflections of twinkling fairy lights and a holiday pallette of gold, white, green and red.
</p><p>
Morse checked his watch. George also glanced at the time. Only 15 minutes to the New Year. It had been a rough one with the quarantine, alot of plans cancelled, stress and anxiety, everyone with their bouts (or continuous) depression. Maybe some years they would have had a party, but it wasn’t even an option now, yet they still made the time to get together. 
</p><p>
George couldn’t help a small smile to himself to know he had such good friends. 
</p><p>
Shoebox leapt into his lap and ended the thought, as Morse and Jim talked about the whereabouts of Inspector Thursday. He’d be staying in with the missus for a quiet one, and apparently they both planned to ring Mr Bright in the morning to check in and give him their wishes. George wouldn’t have even thought of that but he would be doing the same now. 
</p><p>
Shoebox, hearing Morse's voice tried to paw at the screen.
</p><p>
"Shoebox!" It was Morse's turn to perk with excitement, his voice gaining volume, "Hello, good Sir. How are you?!"
</p><p>
Morse and Max had watched the cats for them one long weekend. Just the once. And somehow Morse and their crankiest cat had formed an unbreakable bond.
</p><p>
"Oh no no," A rough voice piped in as massive hands swooped in under Shoeboxs front legs and lifted him away. Shoebox yowled low in annoyance. Ronnie had reappeared smelling fresh and clean, "My son is not mixin with unsavoury elements.."
</p><p>
Morse made a distraught sound as Max's torso also appeared behind him and Box, still headless on camera, struggled with Shoebox’s strong mass. Just as the cat gnawed his knuckles and leapt away, both Max and Ronnie leaned in at the same time and George let out a cry.
</p><p>
Both of them were rocking sport’s dad mustaches. 
</p><p>
"Noooooo!!!!!"
</p><p>
Everyone burst out in laughter as George dramatically slid sideways out of his chair and fell to the floor. Box seamlessly sat in his seat, still laughing, as George’s put-upon wails kept coming from off screen.
</p><p>
Ronnie and the boys exchanged pleasantries. He asked Max and Jim what they were cooking (a side of beef for Max and Morse and a bit of surf and turf for Jim and Joan), Morse what they were drinking (some limited edition exclusive batch of lager he’d gotten for Christmas), and by the time they’d caught up, George had crawled himself up onto the sofa beside Ron again and was casting dubious glances at his upper lip. 
</p><p>
“I can’t believe you did this. Is this because I said Tom Sellec was daddy last week?” 
</p><p>
“Morse’s idea,” Jim chuckled.
</p><p>
“Nothing to do with your questionable tasties,” Morse’s eyes may have drifted to Box but Ronnie  just looked smug about it, “It’s the natural progression from depression beard.” 
</p><p>
Jim, Max and Ron all clicked their tongues and muttered something about not being depressed. It was enough to finally get George smiling again. Tom Sellec was Daddy though. 
</p><p>
“Countdown’s soon, chaps,” Max moved away, walked to the television somewhere off screen, and turned it up. 
</p><p>
They all made preparations, horns acquired, sparkly hats donned, glasses of champagne for some and smaller cocktails for others. Joan appeared with a sparkly top, a thick false mustache that made George spit his drink, and a smile for all of them.
</p><p>
When the clock finally began to tick down, they did their counting together. 
</p><p>
“5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 -”
</p><p>
“<em>HAPPY NEW YEAR!!</em>”
</p><p>
On every screen there was kissing, Jim standing and wrapping his arms around his wife to pick her entirely off the floor for a snog, George sliding into Ronnie’s lap to throw his arms around him and laugh as he kissed his stupid mustachioed mouth, Morse dipping Max only slightly off camera to exchange a slow, grateful string of kisses until they popped back in view with pink ears and smiles as they sipped their drinks. 
</p><p>
“Happy New Year, lads,” Jim grinned as he sunk back down into his chair and Joan wandered away to make phone calls. 
</p><p>
“You too Jimothy,” George smiled, “Not sure I woulda got through this weird year without all of you.” He looked at Ron next to him and grinned and Box got an unusually bashful sort of expression and took a swig of his bottle that obscured most of his face. He tightly squeezed George’s hand where no one could see. 
</p><p>
“<em>Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, Whispering, ‘It will be happier’...</em>” Morse said with a lifted flute of champagne. 
</p><p>
“Tennyson,” Max clarified for the group as he squeezed Morse’s shoulder, “Cheers all.” 
</p><p>
“Cheers!” They all lifted their drinks again and then sipped them in silence as the world outside their flats and houses became a cheerful cacophony of fire crackers and noise makers and distant cheering. 
</p><p>
“I’ve got to call my mum,” Jim finally nodded, “Talk to you all tomorrow.”
</p><p>
“Course,” George nodded, “Tell her and your brothers I said hi.” 
</p><p>
“They’ll ask if I don’t,” Jim winked, “Night all.”
</p><p>
A chorus of ‘goodnights’ came from them all as Jim’s camera clicked off. A few moments later, amidst them all conferring about which of their family they needed to call, Max pressed his lips to Morse’s temple, “<em>For last year's words belong to last year's language. And next year's words await another voice.</em>” He paused, “And this voice has to call my sister.”
</p><p>
“Course,” George nodded.
</p><p>
“Thanks,” Ronnie said almost abruptly before Max disappeared. Morse and Max both paused. 
</p><p>
“That’s it,” Ronnie said again, “The year wasn’t total shit. On account of you all. So... thanks.” 
</p><p>
George bit his lip, trying not to both laugh and grin. Morse grunted agreeably as if Box had quoted Shakespeare or something. Max winked, “Now, let’s not get maudlin, Ronald.” 
</p><p>
Box smirked crookedly. 
</p><p>
“Good night, all. Sleep well when you go,” Max moved away with a lingering pet of Morse’s hair that he leaned towards before it was gone. 
</p><p>
Ronnie was next. He took a sip of beer, gave George’s thigh a pat, and grunted a ‘See you’ to Morse before he also moved out of frame. George was a bit sad that the night had ended so soon, but he still couldn’t help but be grateful to have them all in his life, no matter what the configuration. 
</p><p>
It was just he and Morse now, silent, until Morse looked him straight in the eyes through their camera. George was used to being pinned with those eyes at work, usually with accusation, but it felt intimate now. Morse smiled, and even though George knew he was sauced, he smiled back. 
</p><p>
“Happy New Year, George.” 
</p><p>
George felt warm, nodded, and lifted the last of his drink, “Happy New Year, Morse.”
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if i write anymore quarantine scenes i will add them as chapters.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>